


A Happy Lamp for an Unhappy Life

by MacchiatoRodion



Category: Harvest Moon DS Cute, Harvest Moon: A Wonderful Life, Harvest Moon: Back To Nature, Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town, Story of Seasons: Friends of Mineral Town (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Child Abandonment, Child Death, Childhood Memories, Domestic Disputes, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi, Past Character Death, Poor Life Choices, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22154341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacchiatoRodion/pseuds/MacchiatoRodion
Summary: Cliff was once considering committing suicide, so his instinct is to jump off the edge of Mother's Hill, where so many lovable people had perished before. But something compels him to look down at the area where the bodies should have landed. To his surprise, there was an entire village at the bottom. He decides to investigate since he doesn't anticipate that anybody will miss him while he is away. He ends up meeting someone who shows him the impact of even the shortest life to him.This story begins in the summer leading up to the beginning of [More] Friends of Mineral Town and the first chapter of A[nother] Wonderful Life/DS [Cute]. I will probably write other stories that interweave the narrative. Expect some story overlaps.
Kudos: 6





	1. Something on the Other Side

Mother’s Hill was named for the souls lost in the storms that plagued the Mineral Town over the past five years. It must be the most beautiful and most haunted place in this town. A snowstorm claimed the lumber-cutter’s wife and daughter. The innkeeper’s wife caught pneumonia on her anniversary. The mayor’s frail wife fell off the edge when trying to keep her child from being carried over himself by a gust of wind. One would think that people would avoid this place, but it’s the best place to see the stars around here. Some come up here to look for the stars that their departed loved ones allegedly became. In fact, most times that somebody came here looking to jump off the edge, they would think better of it and leave with some willpower and sometimes even a bucket list.

I never understood why people didn’t go through with it until I was led here myself a few months into arriving here. I had no direction in life anymore. I couldn’t go home because nobody would be waiting for me. I was running out of money because nobody was hiring at the time. The townsfolk were wary of me, probably because I didn’t talk a lot (hard to explain why). I was spending all of my spare time in the Church. I figured nobody would miss me if I disappeared. So I made my way up one night.

I wouldn’t notice it at the time, but as of yesterday, I can say that the path leading up has a great atmosphere. There is a lake where the Kappa is said to live, but I don’t remember the name. It’s surrounded by lush forest on all sides except for a small clearing with a flower meadow. Then, in the last hundred feet, you can see everything turn from grass…to moss and lichen…to rock, as if everything was dying. And yet as the ground died, the sky came alive. The light pollution would die out and you could see so many stars, more than you’d ever imagine existed. It was almost as if the spirit of every living thing—plant or animal—was up there.

Had I been thinking straight that night, I would have called it poetic. But I wasn’t. I just wanted to fade away and forget all of the pain this world and I had caused eachother. I couldn’t see my mother in the stars watching over me the only way she could anymore. The breeze that would now hug me and reassure me that I was welcome here was just a cold wind that felt like it was cursing me for taking the easy way out of my troubles. There were not yet little lichens forcing themselves between cracks, no dandelions. Just an abyss waiting to swallow someone else.

Ending it all would have been easy. All I had to do was close my eyes, spread my arms, and let the earth below break my fall…and probably my spine. I wouldn’t have to feel useless, feel alone, feel…anything at all anymore. But then I made the mistake of looking down. Not even straight down either, just ever so slightly so that my chin didn’t hit a ledge on the way back to Earth. Every time the protagonist in a movie was in a high precarious place, somebody would tell them not to look down. It’s the same in real life. If you see how high you are, you’ll either lose your nerve and freeze up or you’ll stumble and fall and end up hurt so badly that you’ll beg for death. And yet, I willed myself to look anyhow.

I saw lights. I attempted to focus. They were flickering and wavering. Were those lanterns, I wondered, or the light of houses in the distance. Either way, there was someone out there. Somebody had found life on the other side of the hill. I was almost jealous, because this was where so many people came to die, but there was a new life so close to them. After a minute, I made out some buildings with two stories, others with one. There was an entire village out there. As I scanned inwards, I recognized some metal buildings, an electrical plant of sorts, a pond, a shoreline, some tents, an inn, a forest, two farms and a river.

I was finally looking directly downward. I expected to see either a void or jagged cliff. Even the bodies of those dearly departed. Instead I saw two separate cemeteries. The one closer to the cliff was larger and held a few dozen tombstones, each flecked with about a couple dark dots. _Flowers._ The other, which was closer to the river, was overlooked by a small old house and housed five larger tombstones, each with almost a dozen smaller darker flowers. The numbness had long given way to a morbid curiosity. Why were the tombstones separated? Who was buried in each area? Who left the flowers? I took a deep breath and backed away from the ledge. Whatever lay beyond this hill, I wasn’t going to find out by jumping. I left the hill, grabbing some wild berries and herbs for breakfast tomorrow.

 _Tomorrow._ I did not think I would have one of those. Then again, when was the last time I had anything in particular to look forward to?

I was jolted awake by the sound my door opening. The innkeeper’s daughter had come in to do her daily rounds. I should have probably anticipated her entry. Every morning she works her way down the hall, placing empty mugs and packets of instant coffee and tea on each table. She then proceeds to change out sheets on used beds and fluff the pillows on the unused. And every morning she still manages to scare the crap out of me when she gets to my end of the hallway. I can make out a change in her expression once she sees me, but my eyes are so crusted over that I cannot recognize exactly how it changed.

She greeted me as she places a cup and container of drink packets on the table. She asked me if I was enjoying my stay at the Inn. There were many ways that I could have responded. _I was enjoying it until I was woken up._ But that would be needlessly rude; she was only doing her job. _Considering I almost killed myself last night, no._ But then I’d be put on watch by the doctor…assuming he thought it was part of his duty to do so. _I was actually thinking about dead people._ That’s just creepy.

I settled with a bleary stare. She shook her head and proceeded to fluff the pillows of the empty bed and smooth out the covers. I stretched and wiped my eyes I watched her, listening to her humming as she worked. After a moment I recognized the tune as one my little sister and I used to sing often.

She paused and looked at me. She asked if her singing bothered me, which I refuted. In fact, though I couldn’t tell her, I didn’t want the song to end, not while I could still hear her voice. She continued humming, a little more quietly this time. _I wonder if she’s still alive, and if she remembers that song…_

I headed to the library. The fact that it was a building branching off of somebody’s house as opposed to a building of its own amused me. Maybe I picked out the wrong kind of mushroom, because I thought it was like a “baby” library. Like it was budding off the other building and would grow wider into a huge building of its own. Or maybe the house grew off of it?

When I went inside, there was a young girl at the counter. I didn’t know librarians could be as young as me. She was writing something on a notepad, humming to herself. I attempted to get her attention without scaring her. She slowly looked up, then greeted me, smiling wider than I’d have expected of a stranger. I asked if she had any books on plants. She responded by…laughing? _I didn’t think my question was that dumb._ When she saw my expression, she apologized. As it turned out, her father was a famous botanist and a great majority of the library was _dedicated_ to plants.

I asked if she knew where I could find books on glowing plants. She dashed to the back and started looking through one of the shelves. She came back with a few—one featuring deep sea plants, one about plants that attracted bioluminescent creatures, one on rare bioluminescent plants, and one about how to cultivate genetically modified glowing plants. I debated taking the first but decided to come back for it later if I was still interested. I thanked her, then searched for a table to read the other three.

I had to say, this girl’s father was incredibly thorough in his notes on each plant. Data that rich must have taken years to compile. The pictures were mostly elaborate sketches as opposed to photos, I was tempted to examine each and every diagram and description that he’d laid out, but I didn’t trust myself to remember everything. I kept skimming through, looking for the flower I’d seen the night before. It was then that I realized I had not gotten a good look at the flower at all. I didn’t know if the glow was from the flower or a creature inside of it. Was it constantly that hue or did it change color with changing sunlight or pH?

By the time the girl approached me again, I was frantically flipping through pages. She tapped my shoulder and I yelped, which caused her to jump as well. She apologized, then asked what I was looking for. Admittedly, I had told her, I was not quite sure myself. I relayed what I had seen at the top of the hill, making sure to leave out the bits about being up there to end my life. I saw a small sparkle in her eyes. She flipped through the book on natural bioluminescence until she reached a sketch of a red tulip-like flower with protruding green glowing stamen.

From what she told me, this was a variety of flower that grew alongside fens and riverbeds. Her father had recently observed a major bloom in the neighboring village. Forget-Me-Not Valley, they called it. While the family was aware of the flora and fauna that thrived there, the news of gravestones was new to them. When I expressed the desire to see them up close, she dragged me by my sleeve out the door. She managed to open the door, flip the sign to ‘closed’, and pop my elbow in one motion. She was going to ask her father for a map so that I could explore for myself as soon as possible.

Yes, the same map I gave Aja years ago I wonder if she kept it still, after everything she went through. At the time, though, I decided to store it in a drawer in my room. I didn’t want anybody asking questions, especially when I hadn’t the words yet to answer them. On another note, I would have to cut through those woods to get to the path and I was really afraid of getting lost on the way. I visited that ledge again the following morning. The flowers on the graves were now clearly red and at different stages of death. I had originally assumed that they would be some strain of carnations or roses, both a common gesture when a loved one died. In the light, the tulip-like shape was clearer. What’s more, there were two people now attending the graves and depositing a bright red flower on each. They moved slowly, leisurely. _As if they were at home near these departed people, as if walking alongside their spirits._

The following morning, I planned my trip to the bottom of the cliff.


	2. Welcome to East Bumblef**k

I counted out my money one last time. Barely enough to afford a loaf of bread. I would have to look for berries or mushrooms on the way if I wanted to eat. I groaned and shoved the money it in my coat pocket. I grabbed my knapsack and the map and headed out of the room, almost crashing right into the innkeeper’s daughter. We both muttered apologies as I continued down the hall and she into the room, probably to tidy up.

She called to me. _She remembered my name._ She asked when I expected to be back. She was cooking supper tonight, she said, and wanted to know whether to save me a bowl. On the few occasions I was home early enough, I did enjoy her cooking. My face fell. I had no idea how long my trip would take, nor when I planned to return. I shook my head and turned away. She looked almost as sad as I was.

I made my way down the stairs. The poultry farmer’s son and the shopkeep’s daughter were arguing over who could finish their meal faster. The blacksmith was ranting at his apprentice over something trivial, but he was not listening, as per usual. (I remember your husband was nursing a hangover while you yelled at him for getting drunk all night. It was the fiftieth time I’d heard it. Your daughter looked so embarrassed and sad.) The innkeeper was talking to a new food vendor and the shipment carrier at the counter.

The local policeman was standing against the wall surveying the inn the ensure a brawl didn’t break out. Did he even know my face yet? Would he notice if I disappeared? (I didn’t ask if he would care. I know he would, but only if he actually noticed my absence.) I didn’t want him to trouble anyone by sending out a searching party on my behalf, when I didn’t know whether I was going to return. I hurried past, trying not to make eye contact. Great, way to look suspicious, right? Nobody paid me any mind; they’re used to me leaving without a word by now; it’s the entrances that are usually tedious. I left the inn and headed down the path past the ranchers.

You can’t see the path from the cliff’s edge; once the greenery starts dying out, you’ve gone too far. There’s a wooded area along the northwest face. It looks like it’s going down, but it’s really the cliff path going up. Travel down it parallel to the ledge. If it helps, there is a path of dark mushrooms along the ground. Keep going for about fifteen minutes and watch out for the unearthed roots and fallen logs. You’re going to see a tree with red lichen and a giant purple mushroom. No, I didn’t bother to question how there is a purple mushroom the size of my head in the middle of the woods. Need I remind you I was on this trip because of glow-in-the-dark flowers? Okay so take good note of that tree. That’s your only indicator of where to turn on this entire trip. You will want to hang a left…

No…a right. Make a right and…

Shit, no I’m pretty sure he said I was supposed to—

~~Have a mental breakdown circling a tree because you’re lost in the woods and you’re pretty sure you’re going to die hungry and alone unless you take a chance of poisoning yourself with a mushroom because it didn’t occur to you to grab anything along the path here like you said you would. At best, you either die quickly or eat for two days. At worst, you hallucinate vividly and have the thunder-shits for a week. You begin to miss your mother’s atrocious cooking because while she never used enough salt, it was at least palatable. What you would give to know the taste of something remotely nutritious…Why couldn’t you have just eaten your broccoli when your mother told you to? Why did you have to always fight her on how you need vegetables to grow big and strong, but you’re already big and strong and who cares about being burly when you sound like a chipmunk on crack every time you open your mouth, but this will pass as you grow but you will only live long enough to see it so long as you eat your damn vegetables for once, which you refuse to do because it smells like Pepe LePeu’s ball sweat. Your baby sister could miraculously manage to eat it without whining like she does about every other inconvenience in her spoilt pathetic life. But now you can’t even enjoy your mother’s shitty cooking because she died of the plague or something and your brat sister is probably languishing somewhere in the middle of East Bumblefuck with your deadbeat sperm donor called a “dad” and you’re just going to die a neurotic pubescent midget sobbing and almost ready to shit yourself out of fear because you’re just so done with—~~

Remember that the sun moves westward, go the opposite direction, ~~and try your damnedest forget you just wasted an hour of your life crumpled in a heap over some fucking moss.~~

In about ten minutes, you’re going to notice a stone path getting narrow and steep. If not, just follow the edge until you see it. Pick a direction. You have a fifty-fifty chance and your chances of slipping off the edge are thankfully slim. So once you locate the steep path, you’re golden. Feel free to traverse down at your own leisurely pace. ~~Or you can be like me and twist your ankle and somersault your way down the mountain like a human tumbleweed. Congratulations: you’re here, you’re sore, you’re starving and nauseous all at once, the map is almost too crumpled to comprehend, and you have learned to your own chagrin that you are capable of kissing your ankles.~~

When I got my bearings, I noticed I was mere meters from the house and larger gravestones. If anyone could answer my questions as to what those flowers were or who they were left for, it would be the caretakers of the gravesites. But then that meant I would have to either hang around the gravesite until nighttime or knock on a stranger’s door to ask about dead people. Neither of those seemed very wise; in fact, it probably made me seem a little creepy. It was better off that I just investigate the graves myself.

The house itself looked more like a tiny hut, a disheveled one at that. The stones were worn down to the point that it looked like one solid brick. The shingles were falling off the roof little by little but seeing as there was no debris in the gutters or surrounding the house, I was sure that they were doing the best they could, whoever was using the building. Who could live in a space smaller than the average bedroom, I wondered? Maybe this was their life, taking care of graves and then retreating. Or maybe they were out so often that they only needed a bed, a lamp, and a hot plate. Or maybe this wasn’t even a house, but a shrine. Would I find photos of the departed in there? A log of those who lived and died? A crusty old man who was going to yell at me to get off his property?

I could make out that the graves had clear epitaphs as I neared them. There was a pair and three individuals, each with two red flowers—the individuals bearing a few other flowers. The stones were well maintained. They were slightly damp despite it not having rained in the area in days. The weather girl didn’t call for any incoming storms either. Unless I didn’t understand weather. I checked to make sure nobody was looking and sniffed the left of the pair, which . Iron and dish soap. It was definitely cleaned recently. It made me sort of happy. Even after death, these people had someone who loved and cared for them.

I knelt down to get a good look at the gravestone. Might as well get to know them if I’m going to go sniffing their place of rest. [Cressida Albiero Feritali. Fall 4 1947—Summer 25 1990. Beloved wife and devoted mother. “Rainbows do not wait for perfection to appear; they pop up where they please, and there it is.”] Ah, a visionary type. She probably was the type of mother to tell their kids that they could be anything when they grew up. I hoped she meant it, if she did. I hope she and her husband actually loved eachother, and didn’t fight about their shy, clumsy kids. I hope she told her family she loved them, and they said it back and meant it. And that she got to make those cute flower crowns without her hands itching and blistering.

 _Flowers. Right. The reason I came here._ The flowers resembled tulips for the most part. What made them glow was the little stems poking out. Wait no stem isn’t the right word. What were they called anyhow? Anyway each stem had a bulbous growth at the end. In the light they looked to be made of glass. Even the petals themselves were thin enough to almost see through. _Ew, nice, there’s a dead firefly inside this one._ It made sense though; glowing flowers would attract glowing bugs. I had to wonder though if this was an evolutionary thing, like with Venus flytraps. Or maybe they carried pollen like bees.

I felt my body jolt upwards before I mentally registered the sudden pressure on my shoulder. I was unable to get myself to look at the source. Instead, I heard an airy (albeit somewhat feminine) voice behind me. “This is the first time she’s had a visitor above ground in years.” _Above ground?_ The other in the pair caught my eye. _Oh._ [Giuseppe Feritali. Spring 10 1942—Summer 25 1991.] _Oh no._ I knew damn well it was not a coincidence. You do not just die exactly a year after your loved ones. “She has a son about your age. He used to visit her grave every week, but he has refused to cross this bridge since his father followed.” I finally made eye contact. This woman must have been long retired with how small and bent her frame was. Her eyes were bright both in life and hue. Beneath her hat was thick hair that almost resembled cotton candy. “It’s a shame. They were so close in life. Some people don’t like admitting that things have changed. Or once they do, they refuse to look back on how it used to be.”

She looked from the gravestone back to me. She had this strange look on her face. Concern? Curiosity? Her eyes were smiling but… “Did you know her?” I shook my head. “Oh well. I’m sure she still appreciates the company. It can get lonely on your lonesome, huh?”

I think I had said something along the lines of “don’t I know it?” I don’t know if I told you, but the innkeep’s girl and this woman were my first friends in years. Four years with no friends is…you could maybe imagine how I got to the cliff’s edge in the first place. The voices in your head tend to get cranky when they’ve only got themselves for company.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen your face around here before. Are you a new resident?” I shook my head. “Well do you live far?” Again, no. “Well would you like to come inside for some tea? I’ll imagine you need it. The nearest town is still miles off, so I’d imagine you need something to tide you over.” She held her hand out to me, I’m guessing to help me up. I took it gingerly. I was afraid if I put in any force, she’d crumble. (Ma’am when I tell you her hands were tiny…I think the nurse’s boy’s hands are bigger.)

My stomach growled. I felt my body tumble more forwards than upwards. That’s the last I remember of that conversation verbatim. I think she offered me food, and I tried shaking my head, which further disoriented me. We stumbled into the shack and she placed me on a cushion of sorts. She said something to whoever was in the shack at the time, and they put a pot on the stove.

Next I remember I have a cup of tea in my hand and a slice of bread shoved in my mouth.


	3. You Remind Me Of The Man

_Nina._ I think this was the first person I practiced saying their name out loud. _Nina Baylor._ The figure who prepared tea for me was her husband Galen. He was extremely bent and frail, but I could tell he must have been tall in his youth. She and her husband care for the graves of those who have passed before them. According to Nina, they had initially lived across town (in one of the shorter buildings in the row). They used to traverse the bridge every day to tend to the graves, but her arthritis would often flare up. Galen, still somewhat strong and healthy at the time, called upon his neighbors for help building this house. Someone else moved into the old one in the meantime. Since their move, they’d had better access to fresh water and produce, as there was a farm nearby.

While Nina was explaining all of this, I could sense Galen eyeing me up. I didn’t see anything menacing about the stare, but it did catch me off guard. I don’t imagine he’d been expecting company. As far as he was concerned, I was just some vagabond that showed up in town surveying the graves in front of their house. However, whenever Nina looked at him or mentioned him in her story, he would smile and nod at her. It was brief, but it reached his eyes. _Now there was a man who was smitten with his wife._

Maybe it was my low blood sugar talking, but they reminded me of a pair of cats. She was the small fluffy one that mewled and rubbed against your leg seeking attention. He was the gangly stray that was slow to warm up but chirped and purred at you all the time once he did. Maybe if you showed up enough, and managed to remain still, they’d let you pet them.

“Young man?” Oops, I guess I was staring. “You had that hazy look again,” she said. I hid my face in my cup. I wasn’t intending to get bitten back by the tea. How lousy of me to have just spaced out in the middle of her talking to me. How much did I miss?

“Now, now, dear,” he said, patting her on the shoulder, “he probably has a lot on his mind. You said he looked shocked by the graves.”

“He was visiting Cressida and Giuseppe’s graves. It’s been so long since they’ve had visitors, don’t you think?”

They went on chattering about the fact that the couple’s son didn’t visit them and what a shame it was. I couldn’t really judge the man, whoever he was. I hadn’t seen my own family in five years. Mom I miss dearly, but D--but that guy--can burn in Hell. _I hope this Giuseppe guy was a better husband and father than my old man._

It was his turn to ask what brought me to the Valley. Oh no, was I going to have to lie my way out of this one? No. No. I had to swallow my pride and tell the truth. Maybe they’d understand. I told them a majority of what I’d told you already. Rather...the relevant parts.

However, what she gleaned from it seemed to be--“You know Basil?” Uh, yea, lady, apparently the guy is a world-renowned botanist. “Oh, to think my baby boy lives so close by after all these years!” That man was her son? But he looked very little like either of them. According to her, however, she had been married once previously to his father, but he’d passed soon after Basil was born. Galen came into their lives when Basil was still a toddler.

She soon went off on a biography about the guy and all his achievements as if she thought I was making a documentary on him. The whole while she spoke, she was beaming. She shoved a book in my lap filled with hand-drawn postcards and photos of him holding various awards and potted plants. They would take turns trying to recall details from their favorite adventures of him. I couldn’t remember much else of that conversation; my ears and throat began stinging and it only got worse as they spoke. Was it the tea? allergies? illness (wouldn’t be the first time it hit me all at once)? I don’t remember when exactly they stopped, only that they were quiet when the stinging subsided. And there was a hand on my shoulder.

The old man managed to squat down so that he and I were nearly eye-level. He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped my eyes. I was surprised with how gentle he was; I was expecting to lose some skin. “I guess that blend was a little too strong, eh? Makes the eyes water if you’re not used to it.” He moved to my cheeks. “I apologize for us talking your ear off. Us old people tend to--”

“No,” I said, maybe a little too harshly, especially considering he'd barely spoken this entire time. A little quieter, “it’s not your fault. You love your son. It’s only natural you’d want to tell me about him. I’m happy you have so much to say” My throat became tight and stung over again. “I only wish I had anything to offer in return.”

He looked to his wife. Any trace of that beaming smile she’d had before was gone, replaced with concern. Once again, my big mouth had ruined the mood. They were so happy and I had to get sick and tune them out. _I was going to be asked if I had somewhere to stay. If I had someone waiting for me. Anywhere but here. So they didn’t need to see me falling apart in their happy times anymore._

He looked back to me and smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes though. I felt like he was scanning me again. I fought my instincts to flinch. “To be honest, your company is enough.” I almost choked on my own spit. “Having you around is almost like having him around again. You two have the same...aura to you, if you will.”

My body laughed against my will. A recluse like me, who didn’t talk to anybody, who abandoned his entire life, had so many regrets in life, never even graduated high school, who cried inexplicably. I reminded him of his amazing, talented son. _Looks like_ he _doesn’t think his son is so amazing after all._

“I realize that it must be a bit hokey of me to say such things. But let’s be honest. You took a long fall and had very little to eat today as it is. It’s getting late and that hill is still more brutal going up than down, despite your...detour.”

I guess I couldn’t say no after nearly passing out on them. I didn’t particularly want to stay, but I didn’t want to leave either. I wasn’t even thinking of the innkeep and his daughter waiting for me to return safely, or of any potential fights I’d have to break up when I returned, or my unpaid tab. I was too fatigued to think straight.

If only I could have tired myself out enough to not think at all. But we know my luck alright...

They’d talked me into nightfall. I stepped out to get some fresh air (even with the singular window open, it got musty fast). I almost darted right back in, for I’d forgotten that they attended tombstones. I took a few deep breaths, then approached the couple from earlier.  _ Cressida and Giuseppe. Parents to a son who no longer visited their graves. _ I thought back to Mister Basil and his daughter. For all the wonderful things they said about him, he didn’t bother telling them he lived in Mineral Town. I don’t remember hearing them acknowledge his daughter, either.  _ Did they even know he had a family? Did he ever visit or did he only send postcards? _

My throat felt sore and tight again.  _ How common was it for sons to completely abandon their families once they grew up? _

“You miss them, don’t you?” I fell over; I could feel my heart pull a freefall in my ribcage. It was Galen. Unlike his wife, he looked directly at me when he spoke. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s cool,” I lied. “But like I told Missus Nina, I don’t actually know th--”

“No, I mean  _ your  _ folks.” He hobbled toward the graves. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of my wife, but I could see that look on your face.” He was whispering now. “You’re in pain.”

I tried my best to avoid his gaze. “Like you said, I was probably not used to the tea. It might have just been an allergy attack. Pollen and dust like to sneak up on me sometimes. No biggie.”

He sighed and turned his gaze to the graves. “That’s the same thing he would say.”  _ He’s kidding, right? _ “He would always be on the defensive whenever we asked him what was going through his head. When he took his treks through the forests, I was worried that he was trying to avoid us. Sometimes he wouldn’t return until the wee hours of the night. Wouldn’t get up for breakfast, either.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I’m saying you do the same thing, because obviously I wouldn’t know that…”

“No, I did. A lot. But I can almost guarantee that our circumstances were much different.” I knelt down to the headstones’ level. “My parents didn’t seem as interested in what I had to say, as you were to Mister Basil. Definitely weren’t interested in herbology or holistic medicine or anything.”  _ If calling me unsavory names for my interest in that ‘hippie-dippie bullshit’ as a child was any indication. _

I picked up one of the flowers and examined the inside. The green stemmy p-- _ stamen, that’s the word I was looking for earlier _ \--the glow of it still fascinated me. Even after being plucked, it persisted.  _ Almost like a spirit. _

“Hey, Mister Galen?” He looked at me again, his eyes yet again piercing through me. I was tempted to ask if he had x-ray vision. “You and Nina are the ones who put these flowers here right?”

“Yes, but we can only find these in the summer.” Something sounded different about his voice. Maybe I was reading too far into it, but the best way I could describe it was...disappointment. “If you want one to take home, time is running out.”

“Maybe. I’ll think about it.” I placed the flower back down and righted myself. “I was just wondering if there was a special significance to them. Like is it a tradition here to use these flowers for the dead, like how others use lillies or carnations or mums?”

“It was Nina’s idea. She said they looked like they had some sort of spirit or fairy living inside them. She calls them Happy Lamps, but she and Basil used to call them Fairy Skirt Tulips when he was little.” He sighed. “No, it’s not a custom here to leave these flowers, but I personally think that it should be. Definitely makes more sense than importing ‘traditional’ flowers from across the country. Cheaper too.”

“It’s a sweet gesture all the same.” He raised an eyebrow. “I kind of like the idea of little fairies guarding my grave as I travel to the afterlife. Or maybe they’re lighting the way back for the spirits to visit.”  _ I did  _ not _ mean to say that out loud. _ I tried not to look, but I could hear wheezing laughter. My face felt all tingly and my mouth went dry.  _ Great,  _ he  _ probably thinks I’m some hippie-dippie too. _

“That’s a rather sweet notion itself. I think Nina would agree were she not zonked out.” He gestured toward the house. In the faint lamplight, I could see a silhouette of Missus Nina’s head bobbing slowly. There was a grinding noise coming from inside, synchronized with her head. “Falls asleep the same time every night in that chair. Never thinks to come back down to the bed. So I have to listen to her snoring for a couple hours till she comes to her senses.”

“So why don’t you just--”

“Because she will suplex me in her sleep.”

“Ah.”

_ Nina Baylor, the sleeping ninja of Forget-Me-Not. _ That would have made America’s Funniest Videos for sure. Maybe the prize money could cover the chiropractor bill. If I didn’t fear what the headlines would say in the event of my demise, I might have tried my luck, if only to get her breathing properly again.

“Pst.” I glance over at him. He has one arm outstretched and the other jerking back and sliding forth to the rhythm of her snoring. “If you can’t beat them, join them.”

I tried to keep from laughing but failed tremendously. I would expect something like that from your daughter, or even those children from Sunday school, but to see someone his age acting so goofy made me feel lighter inside. Even now, looking back, it’s one of my favorite memories of him.  _ Galen Baylor-Fitz; the part-time mime. _

I felt myself snort before I heard it. He angled his hands upward. Nina stirred inside, creating an elongated snore. “Hey,” Galen murmured, “you got it working. Nice job.”

I collapsed on the ground, just short of headbutting the headstones.  _ Oh Goddess, I could not have timed that better if I tried.  _ I could honestly say it was the first time I laughed myself to sleep since I was a child. (Mister Galen was kind enough to have brought out a blanket for me before retiring).

If I returned at some point, I wanted more nights like this--laughing at absurd antics, hearing stories, seeing how people lived their lives. There was a whole town of people to get to know. Oh, but I was not looking forward to all of the questions I’d have to answer about my family and where I’m from. Yea that’s the thing about getting to know people...it involves reciprocation.

_ Then again, the two friends I’ve made today are already two more than I was hoping for. Baby steps, Cliff. _


	4. Doctor Bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about taking so long to post. Work exhausted me, and I usually work on these stories in spurts. I don't always know exactly where these stories are going to go. Like...I know how it ENDS, but there are many many possible paths. I know I don't have a lot to show for it this time, but I'm going to work on it more frequently. Please let me know what you think thus far.
> 
> By the way, I realize my writing style changes from section to section. This was intentional, but if it's too jarring, I can try to stay more consistent in the future.

I was used to being kicked awake. It’s a shock to the system, a very rude awakening, but I didn’t take offense anymore. I didn’t expect much compassion from my old man first thing in the morning. Chores needed to get done; if he had to drag his ass out of bed at six a.m. to feed the hounds and hunt for our supper, so did I. The worst I’ve had was some minor bruising. I would just have to roll off the cot and get ready to contribute to society.

“Oh dear!”

“Ow??”

Except that I had rolled into Nina doing her tai chi. She was swept off her feet and landed back to back with me. I was fully awake now, but all the wind was knocked out of me, which was amazing accomplishment for someone with such a small frame as hers.

I could feel her back pulsing rhythmically. I couldn’t tell whether she was laughing or crying. I opened my mouth to ask if she was alright, but I couldn’t get enough air. “Help…” was all I could muster. I could feel her trying to roll off of me, pushing out a little more air with each false start. My vision started spinning. I flailed my limbs outward.

“For Goddess’ sake,” Galen shouted, “push up. Upwards, boy!”

I did my best to push my arms up beneath me. I felt them shaking as I slowly rose. Then, suddenly, release; she somersaulted off of me, landing in front of his feet. “I think that’s enough cardio for today,” she chortled, taking her husband’s outstretched hand.

My arms gave out and my face hit the dirt. _Thank goodness she was unharmed. Which is more than I can say for myself._

We shared tea and rice porridge with stewed plums for breakfast. The tea was notably more bitter than the type I had the night before. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about another “allergy attack”. Evidently, Mister Basil would send them tins of tea from wherever he was traveling at the time; preparing it made him feel a little closer, so they said. Some of it was meant to be medicinal, others were just for the taste.

“What’s next on your agenda,” asked Nina. “As much as we enjoy your company, I’m sure you have places to be.”

She wasn’t entirely wrong. I remembered the innkeep’s daughter and how concerned she seemed about me getting home in time for supper last night. No doubt that the innkeep would be cross about me skipping out on my tab. And all of the havoc that awaited me in the lobby. I almost didn’t want to return for fear of that scene alone. I would imagine that he would feel a need to know where I am so as to not have to file a missing person’s report.

Not to mention there was an entire graveyard left to explore, aside from the remaining three graves in their yard. But how horrible did that sound still? _Sorry I couldn’t make it home last night for supper, I was snooping on people’s graves in the next village over._ That was assuming anybody would care enough to ask; for all they knew, I could have fallen asleep in the forest, or found a different innkeep to mooch off of for the evening. What difference would it honestly make for me to return tonight as opposed to this morning? If I was going to get lectured, it was going to happen.

“We aren’t trying to kick you out necessarily,” Galen reassured me, “as we said before, we like having company every now and again, but we didn’t know if you needed to report back to Basil with your findings.”

I bit my tongue. _It sounds more like he has yet to report to me._

“There’s probably nothing about them he doesn’t already know,” I muttered into my teacup, “I was just investigating out of my own curiosity.” _Speaking of curiosity…_ I took a big gulp of tea. Even though it wasn’t the standard mode of liquid courage, it would have to do. “I forgot to ask. Those graves along the cliff’s edge. Whose are they?”

Both grimaced, then looked at eachother, having a full-on conversation through minute facial expressions. I couldn’t tell exactly what they meant to convey to eachother, only that it didn’t bode well.

“I didn’t mean to pry. Just forget that I asked, I’m sorry.”

Nina swallowed her porridge with visible difficulty. “It’s not that you’re prying so much that...we don’t know exactly.”

“They were found at the bottom of the cliff over the course of eight years,” Galen continued. “Only four of them had identification of any sort on them. Three grown women and a little girl. The rest of them were just poor pretty faces.” He shuddered. “Almost all girls too, none of them much older than our Basil.” _Not that he’s much of a spring chicken himself._

Nina pointed out the window. “The family over there on that farm usually attends to them since they are closer. Doctor Hardy examines them and prepares them for burial, and then the family holds a service. I don’t know much beyond that.”

“If you want to know more about the bodies,” Galen continued, “I suggest asking them. Hardy lives across the bridge in our old house. It’s the only short one in the series. Might want to get those allergies examined too, while you’re at it.”

“Will do, thank you.” I resisted the urge to fling a spoonful of porridge at him. “By the way, what kind of tea was that yesterday? I might see about ordering some for my landlord.”

“I don’t know about that. It got you pretty bad, I don’t know what it might do to your landlord. I only used that kind because it was an emergency.”

“The plant on the container was a greenish purplish heart,” Nina interjected, “We can’t read the labels all that well without glasses. But maybe look for that?”

Galen suddenly lay his head on the table groaning. Just as I was going to question if he was alright, he grumbled something about a singing nest.

Nina patted his head. “Getting old can drive you nuts. Don’t mind him, dear.”

They told me to come back at some point. I couldn’t help but to smile, knowing that someone would be so willing to help a stranger and even welcome them back. My home village was not nearly so chummy. Vagabonds like myself were not usually welcomed so openly, if at all.

Whatever relief I had derived from their hospitality, however, was negated by the fact that the dead that this village had to attend to were not necessarily theirs--in fact, if I counted correctly, the strangers outnumbered the familiar by now. My spine felt like it’d jump out of my back at any moment. The sensation only got worse as I realized that my situation might have been completely different had the farmers found me after my descent instead of Nina. (It was horrible of me to assume such things about people I’d never met before, I know that. But after what has happened in the years since, can you really fault me?) Suddenly, visiting the doctor felt more like an imperative than a suggestion. If I stayed too long on this side of the bridge, I couldn’t be absolutely certain that the next people to find me would be as welcoming or trusting.

I picked up my pace, hiding my face in my backpack. Some of the townsfolk nodded in my direction as we passed by; others even smiled, which I returned as best I could before quickening my pace even further. I had nearly forgotten which house I was supposed to go into--the short one, I believe. I tried the knob, but it wouldn’t turn. _Maybe I’d arrived outside of business hours._

“Well, I don’t think I’d ever seen someone so eager to--”

I released a guttural scream before I had the opportunity to register that someone had been standing behind me.

“...See…..me.” Even without seeing their face, I could tell from their excruciatingly long sigh that this wasn’t the first time they’d received this reaction. I wasn’t all that surprised on their behalf either. _Does_ nobody _in this town make noise when they walk??_ With the most monotone voice I’d ever heard, “wow. I managed to mortify someone even _before_ they saw my face.”

I felt a laugh and a half-hearted apology escape my throat before I heard it. I knew how it was. Kid needs a booster shot or a check-up, mother drags him to the grumbly old doctor, he freaks out, says he’s feeling okay, gets intimidated by the tools. My sister was definitely that kid. I can’t count the number of times my Mom made me get a checkup too so she wouldn’t be as scared. My arm aches just thinking about it.

I turned around to greet him and apologize for my screaming when I saw it. He had a glass eye and a metal socket around it. Personally I thought it was astounding, like a superhero or mad scientist or something. Then I remembered those appointments again. How terrified would my sister have been then? How hard would she have fought to get away from him? Now imagine having to go through that several times a day.

I didn’t even know this man and I’d gone from making his day to _ruining his week._ Forget the doctor; I might as well have high-tailed it to that mortician family because I was about ready to die right then and there.

“Can you please at least move out of the way so I can get into my own office? I can’t examine you if we’re locked out.” I could tell he was putting in effort to be more polite than I probably deserved. I shuffled to the side, desperately avoiding eye contact. Even so, I could feel him staring at me as he rifled through his pockets. “I don’t recognize your face. Are you a new resident or just a visitor?”

I couldn't produce an answer, or any sound at all, for that matter. I couldn’t place whether it was shame or panic. All I could do was bury my face further into my pack. Even my grip on that was failing.

“Can you at least tell me what brings you here today?”

Wait, why was I there again? Oh, right, I almost went blind and mute. Like I was doing again. Best I could do was point back and forth between my throat and ears and squeak “Allergic to a plant maybe.”

I heard the metal tinkling of keys. “Can you breathe?” I nodded. “Any itching? Burning?” He rattled off other symptoms that I couldn’t keep up with as he unlocked the door. Since I couldn’t produce an answer, he tried a different approach. “What is it you think you’re allergic to?”

“I drank some tea a couple served me yesterday.”

“Was it the elderly couple by the cliffside?”

“They gave it to me after I fainted.”

“Their son sends them herbs from all over the place to help them stay strong. It’s possible they used some of their medicine on you.”

 _They were sick, but they were willing to treat me still?_ I didn’t know whether to feel thankful or ashamed.

He nudged me into his office. It was a bizarre setup compared to the clinic in Mineral town. It seemed to double as a living space and an office. Just a bed in one corner and simple kitchen in another. His office took over the rest--an examination table, a desk, a few shelves of medicine, a rolling supply table and a butte ton of potted plants. “Sit please, young man.”

I vaulted the bed, nearly falling face first off the other side. I could see a plant under the table on the way up. “Are these what you use for your medicine?”

“Oh, no,” he chuckled, “I just enjoy caring for bonsai for the love of nature. Galen and Romana--well you don’t know her yet, the spry lady in the villa up the hill--they each gave me one as a housewarming gift, then the couple next door brought me one from their hometown, then I found one at the salesman’s stall. Before I knew it, I had a room full of plants.”

He picked up a pot from the window. There were two giant flowers with wide curled petals of various purple shades and a perfect ring of small white seeds in the center and one small white bud with a yellowish-green crown. “This was a gift from the farmer down the way. Do you know what this is?”

“No idea. Anemone?” The bud reminded me of something that you might find in the ocean, based on what my father told me.

He chuckled. “I think you’re the first person to guess that. The other people I’ve asked said they were pansies.”

“So which is it?”

“I’m afraid neither. These are opium poppies. The blooms are beautiful, but the fruits here are poisonous. Opium used to be a very popular narcotic in the old days. Sometimes it would be used for illness or surgery, others just got zooted on the stuff.”

I laughed. “If there’s a way to get high, people will find it.”

“No kidding. medicine used to be trial and error when it first emerged. When we were first expanding--humanity, not just our village--there would be people in the tribe designated to find the use of a plant. Food, medicine, intoxicant…” He smiled at me, but his eyes looked sad. “Do you know how many potential medicines were ignored because somebody had a bad reaction like yours? Can’t be helped though. One person’s panacea is another’s poison, that’s what I say.”

He replaced the poppy on the window sill. “Speaking of poison, do you know what the plant looked like that caused your symptoms?”

“No the pot was made up by the time I came to. It didn’t emerge until a few minutes after drinking it.” Wait, no. Nina said-- “Sorry, yea. I think I remember actually. She said she saw a purplish greenish heart on the container.”

Hardy buried his face in his hands, groaning. It definitely didn’t work to reassure me that it wasn’t poisonous. “Uh, Doctor? Are you alright?”

He looked up at me, still holding the flesh of his face. I almost choked on my spit trying now to laugh at how stretchy his wrinkly face was. “Son, those were stinging nettle. It, you know, stings. The fresher it is, the worse it’ll bite back.”

I groaned in my hands, mirroring him. Now we both knew how Galen felt before I left. I don’t know what was stupider--the fact that they couldn’t immediately place what kind of plant they’d boiled for tea, or the fact that I thought I heard “singing nest” instead of “stinging nettle.”

He took a ear-nose-throat light thingy off his tool table [otoscope, that’s the word, thank you]. “Does it still sting, is the question now.”

“No, it wore off an hour later.”

“I’m not seeing much inflamed tissue anymore. Well, then it was probably just a reaction to the plant itself.” He shook his head. “Well, no use in charging for stating an obvious fact. But word to the wise, if you ever make your own tea, be sure to label them clearly.”

“Understood. But uhhhh, could you check my ears, just in case?”

“Unless you spilled it down the canal, I highly doubt it would permeate--”

“My ears were itching and ringing a lot at the time.”

“It’s common that pollen and dust begin to kick up as summer turns into fall. However, I do not believe that it normally spreads to the ears. That’s very peculiar. Do allergies run in your family?”

“Well, yea, my mom was severely allergic to some sort of flower, but I don’t remember which exactly.” I did remember the reaction itself though--the blisters, the blotching and flaking of skin. I wanted to die when I saw how much pain my flower crowns and bouquets caused her. “It was blue, that’s all I remember.”

“Probably not the nettle, but I want to be absolutely certain. “He took a piece of paper off his clipboard and scribbled something on it. “If they kick up again, please call me at this number, or if you cannot, tell the nearest person”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. _Sure Doc, assuming I got my hearing back, or didn’t escalate into anaphylaxis, I’d get right on that._


	5. I Wonder As I Wander

And thus I found myself wandering aimlessly yet again. Not even to clear my head or avoid my benefactors or anything. I just ran on autopilot for a solid three minutes wandering up a hill--which didn’t even sink in until my calves began aching halfway up.

I snapped out of my daze. The dirt road had turned to paved stone somewhere along the way. That had to be murder on the residents’ feet. Ahead of me, at the top of the hill, was a large building with a wrought iron fence. If I had to guess, it was likely a municipal building. Why they would put it all the way at the top of a hill was beyond me, especially with elderly citizens living here. Then again, a natural disaster could has just as well occurred a long time ago and destroyed other buildings that once stood at that level, and thus the buildings below were either never and ill-kept, or older and resilient.

As I approached the top of the hill, I began to notice topiaries and hedges arranged very symmetrically. Standing in front one of the hedges was a young woman, maybe about my age. In contrast to the clean-cut lawn around her, her dress and moccasins were filthy with stains of various colors. Her long hair was falling out of the bandanna in frizzy strands. Had she not been so pale and her face so serene, I might have thought she was a pauper like me. Instead, she was likely the groundskeep for the building, or perhaps a gardener or landscaper by profession.

She was bending down sniffing a purplish rose. I dared not pass through the gate for fear of frightening her. But from where I stood, I could hear her murmuring to herself. “It’s all so pretty.”

“Does it meet with your approval, miss,” a male voice called. I hadn’t even noticed the fact that there was somebody else out here. With a start, she turned to the entryway of the building, where an elderly man was standing, watching her admire the garden, same as myself. He was tall and stood incredibly upright for his age. Compared to his companion, he was dressed quite dapper. In his hand was a pair of pruning shears [I only remember the name because your husband told me once]. He approached the young woman with a gentle smile.

“This is a wonderful garden,” she chirped.

“I see, thank you.” He nodded and his smile widened to a beaming grin.  _ Ah, so he was the one responsible for tending the garden, not her. So that leaves the latter. _

She giggled and blushed. “I’ve always liked the garden here, you know. I just thought I’d like to get a closer look for once today.”

“It does me good to hear that. Take all the time you need.” He was still beaming. I thought back to the doctor tending his many houseplants, and how happy he looked as he talked about where each one came from. It must have been nice, having someone take interest in his passions. From how he smiled, I could tell he didn’t get to hear such praise often.

A young girl came out of the building, looking about frantically. As soon as she spotted the duo, she furrowed her brows and creased her nose into a sneer, visibly fuming as she tromped towards them. They noticed her and gave her their full attention.

“What is the matter, Miss Lumina,” asked the man, still smiling amicably.

The woman’s smile however had dissolved into a grimace. She tentatively waved at the girl who was just staring, pouting, tapping her foot...basically just doing what she could to make the woman feel as awkward and unwelcome as possible. She finally sighed and addressed the man again. “Sebastian, I should probably be going back home...”

“I see, please feel free to come again any time.” He was either oblivious to his fuming ward or making it clear that he wouldn’t give in to her temper tantrums. Either way, I commended him.

“Yes,” she gave a pleasant smile as she bade him adieu, but as she turned towards the gate, all the cheer and color in her face was gone, replaced by a hollow poker face.

When she spotted me, she gave a half-hearted smile. “I haven’t seen your face before. Are you a new resident or just a passerby?” Before I could answer, “because you’ve no luck asking for gardening tips with her around. Especially if you’re cursed.”

If this were one of those soaps you see on the television, this would be the part where the  _ intelligent tactful _ love interest might say something like “you’re not cursed” or perhaps “don’t mind her; she’s just some snooty rich girl”.

But I think we established long ago that I wasn’t the best at making friends. So instead my dumb ass went “are we talking like ‘can’t grow anything worth shit’ cursed or is it more like ‘death and misery looms at our doorstep’ cursed? because I know a botanist and a clergyman if you need them.” _ As if I’ve breathed even ten words to them since arriving in Mineral. _

“Excuse me. Sir??” I whipped my head up to look at the girl. Her face was red again. “Incase you didn’t read the sign, this is private property. We aren’t interested in solicitors or beggars. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.” 

The woman rounded on her heels to face her. “Just who do--”

“That goes for you too, lady. Sebastien may be too kind for his own good, but I don’t take kindly to trespassers. Either leave the premises or--” she fumbled for words for a moment “--or I will have to take drastic measures.” I could see Sebastien shaking his head behind her, his good humour gone and replaced with a look of shame. It appeared I was mistaken. This wasn’t a town hall at all, but a mansion. The man was her butler, not a civil servant. Yea, I would probably be confused at best, scared at worst to see two random people on my property had I been in her shoes.

“Drastic like what? Crying to your grandmother about the mean peasant lady who dared admire your butler’s handiwork??” The woman bowed exaggeratedly. “Oh, please, do forgive my indiscretion, your ladyship,” she said in what I could only guess was her best “Queen’s English”. So sorry to befoul your presence with my fetid pauper feet.” I couldn’t help but laugh to myself.

Lumina rolled her eyes and scoffed, acting unamused. She wasn’t doing such a good job; I could see her jaw and shoulders trembling briefly. She recrossed her arms. Still the woman went on japing, pouting her lip and furrowing her brow in mock pity. “Please, do not weep for a lowly peasant like myself. It breaks my heart so.”

“Do you think you’re funny? You might as well call yourself a court jester. Your gall is sufficient. All you need is better material.”

“Ah, but what is a court jester without a court? If I may be so bold, your attitude isn’t winning you much company these day, as it seems, now is it?. I’m sure this gentleman isn’t particularly enamoured.” I wanted to protest being pulled into their farce, but I didn’t get the chance before being dragged by the wrist. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we peasants have pans to handle, potatoes to pick, things of the like.”

There was dirt trapped under her nails and in the cracks between her fingers. I could feel a few callouses on the palms themselves. And yet they were still so small. One might mistake her for a child had they not heard her speak. As we neared the bottom of the hill, I could feel her hand trembling, though she maintained her grip. Her breathing became shaky. Her pace slowed.

I looked all about for anyone who might be able to assist were she to faint or break down. Everyone I’d encountered on the way to the doctor had vacated by then. I took a deep breath and extended my free arm outward. “Do you need...um, would you like…”

“I’m fine,” she responded. “There’s no need to discuss details. She’s a bitch and that’s all there is to it.”

“I was trying to offer a shoulder or something, but I guess that would be kinda weird, as you, uh, don’t know me.” I took my pack off. “Do you need a bag to scream into then?”

She whipped her head around to glare at me. “I’m sorry??”

“You know, like the screaming pillow...but bag.” She looked just as confused and offended. “Sometimes people need catharsis, but can’t put their feelings into words. So...I thought maybe it would help to scream into something. It helps me when I’m feeling...feelings.” 

She took a deep breath and let go of my wrist, her hand still extended. “If you’d be so kind.” I held the bag out to her. She snatched it up, opened the top, arched backwards, and then leaned in and screamed into the opening for a solid twenty seconds. A few neighbors--including Hardy--opened their doors and windows to investigate. They collectively relaxed when they saw the bag.

She then clamped it shut and held it back to me, panting and still hunched over. “Much obliged.”

I took the pack back. It felt a little heavier. I feigned struggling to hoist it back on my shoulder. Some of the neighbors laughed; most returned to what they were doing.

We exchanged introductions. The woman’s name was Celia. As her comment earlier about being cursed suggested, she was one of the farmers who worked the land near where the bodies appeared. Four bodies fell over the course of six years--all of which were identified almost immediately as the casualties from our town. The unidentified young women began falling at a steady rate for the last year. Since she was the one who would reportedly find the bodies, Celia became a primary suspect in the disappearances, but always came up clean.

At first everyone was horrified and confused. But once a pattern emerged, people began to suspect one another. Contact with the world beyond the cliff faces nearly ceased until there was a widespread recession. Lumina herself became wary of the others, as she was the same age as most of the victims. Celia was kept under close surveillance most days by her family to ensure that she didn’t fall victim. She’d only slipped out today so that she might check to look at the garden as a contrast to the ruddy vegetables she tends for hours on end. She didn’t notice anyone talking about a missing girl, but they might have been keeping mum to avoid catching her attention, lest she come after them next.

I asked what the victims looked like. She stopped walking. “They were all pretty young. None of them could have been older than eighteen. They were so small. Somehow I only heard one of them scream on her way down. The others I didn’t see until it was too late. She landed right in front of me. There was so…she must’ve hit all at once because a bunch of blood, from her mouth, all at once, just…”

She wrung her apron as she spoke, hands trembling more violently as she proceeded. “She just laid there, hopefully dead, because to survive a fall like that must be agony. She had this long mane of curly tangled brown hair. Her eyes, I’ll never forget them. The others had mostly closed them by the time I found them, or maybe Marlin or Vesta closed them for them if they found them first. But this girl, they were almost completely open. They were this unearthly shade of brown, almost red--probably bloodshot between the fall and whatever she went through prior. There were tears streaming down. Her face was too serene though for what had happened to her. Even though she had…she was…”

She took a few shaky breaths and wiped her face before continuing. “She couldn’t have been older than seven. She was still missing a front tooth for Goddess’ sake.” She didn’t get much further before collapsing to her knees. I myself felt a spike of nausea. I knew the girl was way too young, but I couldn’t help but think of my sister. What if she had been among the fallen? How many sisters, daughters, best friends...did these people have to bury?

I heard a shout from the distance. Before I could register which direction it was coming from or what what they’d even said, I saw a figure step between Celia and I, one hand around her wrist. Her gaze bounced between the figure and I. Once I got my bearings, I realized I was being stared down by a pale man with heavy brows. His eyes were more piercing than Mister Galen’s, cold and silver, like the Swiss army knife I wish I had brought to protect myself with.

“I’m not gonna ask again,” he snarled.

She attempted to get up and free herself from his grasp, succeeding in neither. “He didn’t hurt me. It’s okay. I just got caught--”

“I’ve got this,” he barked at her. He turned his attention back to me. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are making a young lady cry, but you’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“He didn’t make me do anything. I was--”

“I said I’ve got--”

“LET.” I cleared my throat. “My apologies. Will you please let the young lady speak?”

She took a deep breath. He loosened his grip and pulled up so she could get to her feet. “He was asking about the girls who were buried near the cliffside. I’m still a little shaken from seeing that one girl last week, and then remembering...”

I clasped a hand over my mouth.  _ That only occurred last week? No wonder the poor dear was still messed up. _

[How long has it been for you, by the way? Has it...gotten any easier? Yea, I didn’t imagine so. It hasn’t for me either. I’m sorry to pry, I just worry about you two, you know?]

She held up her free hand “Please, don’t apologize, okay? You couldn’t have known. The one I told you about happened last winter. This was a different girl. Older, maybe sixteen.”

I felt my blood freeze in my veins despite the heat.  _ She should be around that age by now...but she couldn’t have made it here already. It’s too soon. Unless maybe she followed after me right after I left. I didn’t come here immediately after all.  _ “What did this one look like?”

“What’s it to you?” the man interrupted again. “How do we know you ain’t the one dropping them?”

“Marlin, cut it out,” Celia cried.

“No, seriously, what kind of guy just asks about dead girls out of the blue? Do you not find that a little suspicious? We don’t know if he’s the one to blame, or even a scout for the real sicko behind this.”

Shit, he had a point. Celia had a reason for being at Lumina’s house--she was admiring Mister Sebastien’s garden. I was a newcomer and multiple people likely witnessed me wandering right from the doctors to her house. They heard Celia scream into my bag--I could have been muffling her screams intentionally for all they knew. There was no way to make things look good for me.

I took a deep breath and willed myself to make eye contact with Marlin. “You’re right about it being creepy. I didn’t know about the bodies necessarily until Missus Nina said something.” I pointed to the top of the hill. “I saw glowing dots from up there last week and decided to investigate, followed the trail. Turned out they were glowing flowers. My original plan was to collect some fresh ones and give them to the local botanist from my town, but them my dumb ass got sunstroke.”

_ Oh no. Ohhh crap. Oh no.  _ I felt myself go numb. I looked up again. “Wait, Celia, when did you say you found that teenager’s body??”

Celia stepped toward me cautiously. “Last week. Last Tuesday actually.”  _ You’ve got to be kidding me. _

“Cliff!” I whipped my head around to see Mister Galen smiling and waving and Missus Nina grimacing behind her cane. “Sweetheart, it’s almost time for supper. You can horse around with your friends later, okay?”

Marlin and I exchanged glances as I brushed past him. Marlin offered to help Celia up but she slapped his hand away. By then I’d turned away and headed toward the hut once again, so I wasn’t sure what happened between then and seeing him next.

As I approached, Mister Galen placed a hand on my shoulder. “Are you alright, son?”

“If we’re being honest,” I took a deep breath, “I think I might need a new pair of pants.”


End file.
